She held the greeting card beside her like Vanna White showcasing a piece of jewelry on the gameshow \"Wheel of Fortune.\" <\/p>\n
\"Remind you of anyone?\" my West Coast gal pal wryly asked. <\/p>\n
The card showed a scene from the 1930s of two stylish ladies raising their glasses in a toast, with one gal grinning profusely at the other, who looks a bit like she just swallowed a moth. The caption read, \"Ever notice how the worst decisions make the best stories?\" <\/p>\n
I grinned profusely. <\/p>\n
The events of the day actually began weeks before, when my West Coast gal pal began inundating me and her husband with information about \"intentional communities\" -- those planned residential communities designed with a high degree of social cohesion and teamwork, according to the all-knowing Wikipedia. <\/p>\n
\"You mean communes,\" I said. <\/p>\n
\"They aren't communes,\" she disputed. <\/p>\n
\"They look ... like communes. I bet the little druggies sit in a circle, hold hands, sing Kumbaya and run around naked.\" <\/p>\n
\"No, they don't!\" she protested. \"They simply want to share things.\" <\/p>\n
\"I'm sure they do.\" <\/p>\n
\"If you're uncomfortable going, then I'll be uncomfortable, so why don't you just drop me off?\" <\/p>\n
\"There's no way I'm just dropping you off at the Donner party.\" <\/p>\n
\"They aren't the Donner party! We've emailed several times, and they seem nice!\" <\/p>\n
Our banter continued until we pulled up to an old farmhouse surrounded by overgrown vegetation and a faded red barn. A friendly farmer greeted us. He showed us around the farmhouse, and then invited us to attend their business meeting, which was about to begin. <\/p>\n
As we made our way down the dirt lane to the lighted pavilion, I noticed a weathered sign with an arrow pointing toward a pond. In yellow paint, it read \"Clothing Optional.\" <\/p>\n
Folks of varying ages made their way from all corners of the 300 acres to a wide circle of chairs. The facilitator passed a small empty bowl around the circle -- whoever had the bowl, had the floor. <\/p>\n
\"Like the conch,\" I said, alluding to the Lord of the Flies, and cringing a bit as I recalled how that book turned out. <\/p>\n
The group was clad (thankfully) in cotton T-shirts, tanks and shorts, with hiking sandals and boots, and tousled hair and deep tans. <\/p>\n
\"We start by holding hands and praying for a peaceful meeting,\" the facilitator announced. <\/p>\n
They shared about their week and discussed points of business regarding the property. One man told of his bike trip through Iowa on acid tabs. <\/p>\n
\"We don't all do acid,\" whispered a pleasant fellow. <\/p>\n
\"Duly noted,\" I replied. <\/p>\n
After a tour of the off-grid cottages and blueberry and wildflower farms -- which were actually quite interesting -- my friend and I got back in the car and drove off into the noncommunal sunset. <\/p>\n
\"I am never going to live this down,\" sighed Pollyanna. <\/p>\n
And thus is the story of how one gaudy, glittery greeting card is now prominently displayed in my little home. Someone's laughing, my Lord. Kum bay ya. <\/p>\n
NAN Our Town on 08\/10\/2017 <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Go here to read the rest:<\/p>\n
Kum Ba Yah - NWAOnline<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" She held the greeting card beside her like Vanna White showcasing a piece of jewelry on the gameshow \"Wheel of Fortune.\" \"Remind you of anyone?\" my West Coast gal pal wryly asked. The card showed a scene from the 1930s of two stylish ladies raising their glasses in a toast, with one gal grinning profusely at the other, who looks a bit like she just swallowed a moth. Continue reading